Empires
and food crimes

or

Jellied eels and
wonder bread

If ever definitive
proof were required of the evils of colonialism and the dangers of empire, may
I direct your attention to exhibit A: the kitchen.

Such was my most
recent epiphany while visiting the island of Malta. Malta, dear readers, is
located snugly between North Africa and Europe. It has been continuously
inhabited for 4 millennia, and during this time has been part of the continuous
flux of political and military power, having been occupied by every conceivable
civilisation. Their language is a curious blend of Arabic, Italian, English and
a spattering of others. It makes sense, does it not, that theirs must be the
cuisine of all cuisines. The melting pot of cultures, a transitory point
between the great civilisations, on the sea lanes to everywhere from everywhere
for most of history. Ships had to stop here; Maltese sailors traversed the
world, returning with a myriad of experiences. Its kitchen should, should it
not, be the best of all worlds, the crossroads of civilisation, food-wise?

Alas, such is not the case. Left with the
difficult choice of embracing the Sicilian, the Arab, the French, the Ottoman
or the Greek culinary tradition (all of whose empires have coveted or acquired
Malta), the Maltese people have opted not for the best of each, but have stayed
true to one imperial tradition, forsaking all others. Did they pick (I hear you
ask) the gastronomic traditions of the French? Might the Greek/Turkish
experience have tickled their taste buds, I hear you wonder? Or, having been
once part of the fiefdom of the Sicilians, plumped for the rustic cooking of
those earthy southern Italians? No, for Malta is clearly a land that is as quirky
as George W. Bush after a bowl of alphabet soup. Displaying a complete
disregard for common sense these good folk, individual and whimsical as they
get, went English. Yes, you read right. They have sought to adopt the Cornish
pasty, the ploughman’s lunch, Bangers and mash, the steak and kidney pie as
their national fare. Before I start receiving venomous letters from English
chefs (naked or otherwise) let me add that they have sought to duplicate not
English haute cuisine (a la expensive BBC TV cooking programmes), but have
preferred instead to emulate the great British pub tradition. Misguided as this
may sound, the Maltese clearly have a talent for such well-considered
decisions. Showing great discretion, the Maltese have learnt from the best in each
circumstance. They looked to Italy to learn about traffic rules, the proper use
of traffic lights, and consideration for pedestrians. From the French, they
have learnt the means to efficient local government.To the Greeks they owe their love for maintaining a high level of
public infrastructure.

But I digress. The
point here is that just as there are civil crimes, war crimes, crimes against
humanity, there are also clearly also food crimes. Whatever the British
may or may not have done, they certainly seemed to have inflicted a lot of
damage on the collective psyche of subjugated nations by inflicting on them
English food. (I will pause here to remind the Dutchmen laughing in the
background that they too have much to answer for).

Lest you think I
exaggerate, may I bring to the court’s attention exhibit B: the eponymous
characterless loaf of white bread. This has survived in the US (free from
colonial shackles these two hundred years now) as the shameful phenomenon known
as ‘wonder bread’. The wonder of wonder bread is that there is any wheat in the
making of it at all. This will probably be the only food available in case we
ever have a nuclear holocaust, since it is known to have a shelf (half) life of
several hundred years. If worn in one’s shoes it is known to destroy fungal
growth such as athlete’s foot. Wheat products (along with milk products) are
the staple diet of northern European societies, and since no one (apart from
supermodels) likes to puke regularly, many of these people have been inventive
about the variety to which they have been put to use. However while the
Germans, the French –even the Scandinavians – have a large selection of
different bread options, the English stuck to one basic taste-free formula, and
forced this monstrous experience onto the breakfast table of every former
colony in its glorious empire, which as we know, once accounted for almost half
of the earth’s surface.Before some of
you English types start foaming in the mouth that I am being unfair; that bread
cannot be classified as English food per se, a well informed website[1]
has listed it as one of England’s most important dishes. In fact ‘bread and
butter’ is apparently the third most popular dish in the UK, [literally: under
‘popular English dishes’] with the following entry:

It is common to
see a plate of bread and butter on the table when eating in England. It is used
to soak up the leftover gravy on your plate. British bread is delicious when it
is bought fresh.

I particularly like
the caveat about the freshness.

The damage in some
cases has thankfully been limited to bad bread: Some of these conquered lands
were able to withstand the onslaught of boiled cabbage, fried kidneys, meatloaf
and black pudding by the fact that colonial types did not encourage the natives
to dine with them. In such cases the damage has not been irreversible. It has
been a perverse cruelty, but not an earth shattering one or irreversible one.
Other lands, sadly, were populated by English folk (the US, Australia, new
Zealand, and the like), and succumbed to further suffering. These people are
not victims of crime, but are carriers. They know no better because they have
had no other choice. They too can be redeemed. Others have lost their sense of
national identity by that creeping disease that makes leprosy looks contagious:
English and American tourism. May I point you to British tourist haunts such as
Ibiza, Cyprus and Malta. These people are clearly victims, and the
soon-to–be-created UN Food Crimes Tribunal will seek to recompense them for the
evils visited on them.

As with war crimes,
‘ignorance is no defence’. Besides which, these cruelties were often inflicted
by British nationals in the full knowledge that better-tasting, more
nourishing foods were available to them cheek-by jowl. I had the misfortune
once of turning up for ‘Sunday curry’ at an English enclave in Nigeria – the
Cricket Club’ – where a liquidy broth in which a teaspoon or two of curry
powder, some marmite, a little HP sauce some mutton bones, and vegetables had
been boiled with a few handfuls of roasted peanuts floating on the surface for
crunchiness. Consumed – I choke here with emotion, for I have suppressed this
memory for nigh two decades – with a rice that can best be described as ‘al
dente’, to raptures of delight, “oh, I do love a good curry”. Good Grief. (Let
posterity note that this event marked the termination of my interest in
cricket).

It is possible to
argue that had I not wondered into the club, no foul was committed: masochism
is no crime. But it points to arrogance, does it not, how a people might have
ruled the Indian subcontinent for several centuries, and not have learnt how a
curry actually tasted like? Once again, may I raise the spectre of the Dutch,
who along with the British went eastwards in search of spices, between them
colonised the entire east Asia, acquired these elusive spices in large
quantity, to this day dominate some 90% of the world’s spice trade, and somehow
managed never to use any of these spices in their own cuisine?

Food Crimes are of
course, hard to prosecute. But when individuals can be identified whose actions
have sought to inflict harm on food, and when this has been served to
unsuspecting ordinary folk who had no clue this was going to be done to them,
deserve to be punished. Punishment is in the form of restraining orders placed
on such people so that they are not allowed with a 100 metres of a kitchen.
There are of course caveats. People, for instance, who voluntarily go to
McDonalds cannot claim grievance, because it is well known that McDonalds
serves food from which all taste and colour has been expertly tortured.
Masochism is another defence. Allowing a McDonalds chef into my kitchen would
be designated as inhuman cruelty, but a self-inflicted one.

Let us take heart in
the good news. First, that Culinary Civilisation has finally arrived – somewhat
belatedly – to the shores of the English isles. A million Indian and Italian
restaurants that now crowd their main streets have redeemed these poor
unknowing natives.Second, let us
collectively be grateful that white bread was the great curse of the British
Empire. At least they didn’t inflict jellied eels on mankind. Jellied eels, for
the initiated, is a collection of millions of microscopic sharp fish bones
encased by a gelatine-like substance which smells and tastes exactly like axle
grease. Now here is a situation where a Bush or a Blair can be a war criminal
and a food criminal at the same time: Export a few jellied eels to Iraq, will
you?